Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Why the Library is Dangerous

Yesterday I pulled a groin muscle while returning the kids' library books.
It went like this: Pull up outside library, grab books, jump out, drop books on road, bend over, pick up books, turn around, hop up kerb, TWANG! Ouch. Limp limp limp. Return books. Limp back to car, go home and get ice pack for groin.
I do realise this was not actually the library's fault, and will not be suing anyone. But it got me thinking that these days, nowhere is safe. I mean, you could expect an injury at say, the park. Or even falling down stairs. But who knew that libraries could be such dangerous places? So, obviously feeling somewhat morbid, I started imagining all the horrible things that could happen at the library:

*Paper cuts.
*Getting a finger jammed in the photocopier.
*Dropping The Oxford Comprehensive Dictionary on your foot.
*Getting rammed in the back of the ankles by strollers at Story Time.
*Head injuries from bashing it on the desk when you can't figure out the catalogue system.
*Death stares from librarians.
*Fatal allergic reaction to the half peanut butter sandwich found on page 7 of Hairy Maclary from Donaldson's Dairy.

Have I forgotten any?

Sunday, March 1, 2009

I Posted Today On Mamamia about "Toxic Friends"

I had a friend who loved to get together and trash everyone we knew. She tore into their appearance, their taste, their partners, their incomes. She probably did the same to me behind my back. She was two-faced and mean spirited, and every time we hung out I was left with a big, sad hole in the bottom of my stomach. Toxic in every sense.
I had known her for a long time, all through school and our weddings, but I just had to pull the plug. I ignored her calls, and really had to hide for a while until she got the message and went away.
To be honest, I feel a bit gutless for not actually telling her why we couldn't be friends any more. But I didn't want to discuss it, I just wanted her bile out of my life. And, let's face it, who wants to get into a scrag-fight? I'm almost ashamed to say this about my own gender, but women are like rats... never corner them.
Mutual friends have asked why I broke up with her and I've told them the truth. I had hoped they would pass it on.
So, last week, about seven years since our last conversation, she asked me to be her Facebook friend. I guess the message never got through.

Sleep is for Wimps

Last night was a night of hot, shallow broken sleep. If you can call it sleep.
Four visits by The Fairy who had variously lost her drink bottle, then dolly, needed a cuddle and had a sore back.
Then our electrical safety switch tripped, which sent our cordless phone into a beeping frenzy as it's power was switched off. With the fuss it made you'd be forgiven for thinking it also needed a cuddle. So Hubby gets up, turns the power back on, returns to bed, gets up again, makes notes for his meeting in the morning, comes back to bed.
By now I am awake. And angry. After what seems like hours I finally fall asleep again for about seven seconds before the alarm goes off to welcome in the new day. Oh, hurrah.
The Fairy is barely awake and she's yawning into her Rice Bubbles. She is weary from her nocturnal activities and would like to stay home today. She is packed off to preschool with instructions to have a nap at rest time.
The Pixie on the other hand is full of beans after a long, restful night's sleep and wants to dance the day away. I can only dance with her and hope she has a long nap.
I long for a night of uninterrupted sleep, but in the meantime I'm trying to convince myself that sleep is overrated. I'm going to soldier on, get stuff done and have my third coffee for the day.